


Between Sheets and Paint

by 970406



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: M/M, alternative universe, painter!mingyu, singer!mingyu, there is a sex scene but is not described
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 11:46:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6703378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/970406/pseuds/970406
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kim Mingyu goes to an art exhibit in search for inspiration, he finds Jeon Wonwoo who provides him with more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Sheets and Paint

**Author's Note:**

> Jessica, thank you.

Mingyu was eighteen when he stepped into the studio with the boys to record their first album. They had done more than a hundred concerts by then and had gotten a pretty decent amount of fans from the cities close by. They were best friends who shared dreams, desire and the most stubborn attitude the Manchester scene had seen in quite some time.

They still have all those things.They are a year and half older and have gained more fans and even bigger dreams, the desire to continue always runs along with the blood in their veins and their will to make it is definitely just as big as it used to be. Stubborn people don’t let go of their dreams very easily, if at all.

What they’re currently lacking, though, is inspiration. “ _They_ ” as in their singer. The boys in the band like to pitch in with ideas for the music and their help is always very appreciated, but they leave the lyrics to Mingyu because he’s the one who has to sing them.

Their label has been on their backs for months now, going on and on about how important it is that they get back into the studio soon, something about contracts and deadlines that belong in the dark corners of the business. No one ever talks about the downsides of it, and if they do they just glamorize it. Mingyu might be desperate, but he is not about to turn to drugs and alcohol just to gain some creativity.

For the first record he had eighteen years’ worth of experiences and a stack of old notebooks to pick apart and put together however he pleased to form some really great lyrics. The only things he has  _now_  is the aching desire to go back home and the heavy pressure to always be better, and even though it has coaxed out a handful of good songs it isn’t enough to make an entire record.

This is why he doesn’t need the slightest bit of persuasion when Jeonghan suggests that they go to some art exhibit the upcoming Friday. He figures that anything is better than sitting at home, tugging at his hair and glaring at his bedroom wall in frustration as the pages of his journal remain frustratingly white and untouched.

His sudden will to participate in such an event does nothing to his personality, though. So when Jeonghan knocks on his door he’s sitting in his boxers with a handful of takeout menus in his hands, trying to finish off the battle that’s been going on far enough to turn the low grumbling in his stomach to unsettling roars.

His empty stomach has taken its toll on his brain and for a moment he’s actually convinced that he already ordered something and simply forgot about it. But the man outside his door doesn’t offer more than a kind expression and the whole situation turns into one of those rare moments when Jeonghan’s presence actually disappoints him. Mingyu is not a mean guy, though. Not even when he’s hungry.

He steps aside to let his friend in and greets him with a tired “Hey, Jeonghan-hyung.”

Jeonghan just looks at him; brow furrowed, eyes amused and lips pursed. Mingyu has no idea of what he has done to make Jeonghan look like that, but he’s certain that it’s  _something_.

“You going like that, then?”

Mingyu follows Jeonghan with his eyes and watches as he takes a seat on the couch. A slight spark of hope and excitement is making itself known in the pit of his stomach. “Going where? Did we have dinner plans?”

That’s great. That’s bloody fantastic.  _Food is getting closer._

“No,” Jeonghan says. It sounds more like a mix of ‘duh!’ and ‘idiot.’ “Joshua Hong’s art exhibit, mate.”

“Joshua?”

“Yes, Joshua. The guy who made the cover of your record? The guy who-“

Mingyu sighs and waves his hand in a ‘yeah, yeah’ motion. “I know who Joshua is. It’s _his_  thing? Why didn’t you say so?”

“I was saving that piece of information. I thought you’d put up a fight and I figured it would be clever to use that to convince you.”

Mingyu huffs on his way over to his bedroom; “You make me sound like a petulant five year old who can be bribed into doing absolutely anything if he’s offered some candy.”

Jeonghan’s answer to that comes less than a second later, and Mingyu really should have expected it. “You  _are_  like a five year old that can be bribed into anything with candy.”

By now he has managed to find a somewhat clean pair of jeans and struggled his way into them without falling over, which really should be considered a small victory. He sticks his head out of the doorway and throws Jeonghan a hopeful glance. “Got some on you, then? I’m hungry.”

* * *

“I don’t know why you bothered to put on any clothes at all,” Jeonghan says, eyeing Mingyu from head to toe and topping it off with a slightly judgemental - yet very amused - shake of the head.

They’ve just stepped out of Jeonghan’s car and Mingyu has to stop to look down at his own body to understand what he’s talking about. “They’re just ripped jeans, bro. S’not like I’m going naked.”

“You’re wearing a button-up, the name indicates that you’re supposed to  _button them up_ ,” Jeonghan advises.

Mingyu laughs out loud at that and brings his hand up to Jeonghan’s shoulder to squeeze it lightly. “You should be used to this by now.”

“Oh trust me,  _I am!_  I’m just not sure that the people inside are going to be,” he responds, tilting his head to the side and bringing Mingyu’s attention to the big glass window they’re standing in front of.

He has to blink a few times, trying to wrap his head around how posh the place look considering the not so posh part of London they’re in. Joshua’s rough exterior and laid-back attitude that he’s known for quite some time doesn’t really match the place either.

Eventually he lets out an impressed whistle. “Fancy.”

“You know what?” Jeonghan asks, completely ignoring Mingyu’s remark. “If you keep the coat on you won’t look like…”

“Like the singer of the only indie folk band in Korea?” Mingyu supplies. “Wasn’t planning on losing it, man. Only reason I brought it was for storage.”

He pats both pockets at the same time so that a distinct crunch can be heard over the sound of the traffic.

Jeonghan’s face falls, his chin dropping until he looks like a fish. “You didn’t.”

“Yes I did, the food at these things always looks better than it tastes and it would never make me feel full. Seriously Jeonghan, do you know me at all?” Mingyu asks, finally walking up to the door and holding it up for his friend.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t. Like now,” Jeonghan answers, giving a nod and a brief smile to the man welcoming them inside. “And when you know bus call is at eleven but show up a quarter to twelve.”

“That’s what you get for signing up as tour manager. You could have just tagged along anyway, but  _no_ ,” Mingyu teases while his eyes scan the room.

When he turns his head back to Jeonghan he finds that said man has chosen to ignore him in favour of exchanging some words with the man who just welcomed them in. He seems to be saying something about the gallery that Mingyu couldn’t care less about, so he decides to sneak off before he’s dragged into the conversation.

There’s quite a lot of people milling around - some of them wearing jeans and simple t-shirts, Mingyu happily notices – and he makes his way through them until he reaches the centre of the spacious room where he subtly tries to open a bag of crisps without taking it out of his pocket. He can’t say that he recognizes many of the paintings as Joshua’s typical style, but then again he hasn’t seen Joshua in quite a while and his style might have changed since then. It’s all very pretty, though. Nice to look at in a way that really tugs at his consciousness until he’s totally invested in what’s before him, abstract paintings mixing with more realistic ones so that it never gets boring.

What really catches his interest, though, is the portraits. There’s less of them than the others but once Mingyu has noticed that they’re there he can’t seem to see anything else. He slowly makes his way towards a corner of the room where a portrait of a little girl is currently hanging in peace. As he gets closer he realizes that she’s playing in a sandbox, a smile on her face that’s attached to the sand that is caught between her bare toes. And even though he has no idea of who the girl is or has a clue of what her story is he feels like he’s looking at something meaningful. It shows in her eyes.

The clink of a glass drags him back to reality, and as he briefly scans the room he stuffs another crisp into his mouth and chews without a care in the world. He comes out empty of causes for the sound, but his eyes travel over a face with soft features before they’re back to the painting before him, and they snap back just as quickly when he realizes that the eyes to whom the pretty face belonged to were already fixed on him.

It’s a guy. A handsome one. A  _very_  handsome one. Mingyu wonders why he’s not hanging on a wall, ‘cause he’s most definitely  _some_  kind of work of art. He could have been mistaken for a very lifelike statue if it weren’t for the wiggling eyebrows and the pursed lips. Amusement is evident in his eyes and it’s quite obvious that Mingyu has been caught. Question is how long he’s been watched for.

Mingyu is used to attention. He sings his heart out on stage because he loves it, feeds off of the energy from the fans because it’s exhilarating, even likes to be recognized on the streets because it means he’s doing something right. But this, standing in a gallery as one of many faceless viewers and still being singled out by someone, is nothing he’s used to and it makes him oddly nervous in a way he hasn’t felt since he was fifteen.

So naturally, he’s quick to turn his head and blush until he’s been recaptured by the painting on the wall. Which is completely unnecessary since-

“Hey you.” And  _wow_ , there’s a smile that goes with it all. “You gonna be a sweetheart and share?”

Mingyu might be a bit stunned, but he’s not cruel. He tugs at the opening of the pocket as if to say ‘go ahead’ and the guy gives him a mischievous grin before he looks around to make sure that no one is looking their way as he reaches into the bag of crisps and takes a handful. It feels strangely intimate but Mingyu just follows every movement carefully and studies the guy’s face while he starts to chew, and somewhere in the middle of it all he has the time to register just how great his newfound dinner pal smells. He can’t pinpoint the scent but he can almost feel the air of every inhale making its way down to his lungs and colouring their insides purple.

Mingyu likes purple.

The guy is wearing a white button up, but unlike Mingyu’s flannel it’s done all the way up. It fits him the way those type of shirts fit Mingyu, and unfortunately it looks like he feels just as uncomfortable as Mingyu usually feels while wearing them.

“Thanks…?”

Mingyu smiles at the soft tone. “S’ no problem.”

The guy averts his eyes to the floor for a moment and Mingyu wants to reach out to touch his lips to see if they’re as soft as his smile is but that would be creepy and besides, he doesn’t have the time to do so before their eyes meet again.

“Yeah but I mean… uh. Look, do you happen to have a name or should I keep thinking of you as _the hot snacks guy_?”

In usual Mingyu Styles-fashion he nearly blurts out a correction along the lines of ‘the snacks aren’t hot, they’re just normal crisps’, but he manages to stop himself _just_  in time. The slightly embarrassed tone in the stranger’s voice and the pink on his cheeks tells Mingyu that the guy knew  _exactly_  what he was saying.

He smiles sheepishly, “Yeah, sorry. It’s Kim Mingyu.”

“Cool. Mine’s Jeon Wonwoo.”

They’re quiet after that, both chewing away as they look at the painting in front of them. Mingyu’s mind is elsewhere though, mostly busy pondering the feeling of being unrecognised. He can’t remember the last time someone approached him like this without knowing who he was. It’s refreshing.

“Do you like it?” Wonwoo asks. His voice is low and there’s white noise all around them but they’re standing close enough that the words snatch him right back to reality, and it takes him surprisingly little time to realize that Wonwoo is talking about the painting and not their sort-of dinner.

He takes a deep breath. “I do. It’s not exactly my area of expertise when it comes to art, but I appreciate what I see. It’s beautiful to look at and to me it seems really beautifully done, but…”

He can tell that Wonwoo’s eyes shift over to his face once it’s obvious that the sentence won’t come to a proper end, but he can’t make himself turn his head to meet them. He’s mostly just wishing he knew how to express himself without sounding like an idiot.

“But?” Wonwoo asks, and there’s that soft tone again, telling Mingyu that he’s in no way obliged to answer but that it will be appreciated if he does. It’s a bit unsettling that that one thing makes Mingyu go weak in the knees when they met less than seven minutes ago.

“But,” he eventually repeats, figuring that he might as well say whatever is on his mind and let Wonwoo walk off if it ends up sounding stupid. “What I like the most about it is how it makes me feel. Like, it’s pretty to look at and all, but it’s the way the girl is portrayed that makes me want to keep looking ‘cause her expression seems so real and something tells me that there’s more to the story than what I see. I don’t know, I’m probably not making any sense at all.”

When he’s done beating himself up mentally he finally looks back to the side, getting a pleasant surprise when he finds Wonwoo not only standing there, but smiling gently at him as if he didn’t just ramble like an idiot but actually said something good.

“What _is_  your area of expertise, then?”

That’s not what Mingyu was expecting to hear next. He likes it, though. To be taken off guard.

“I’m alright with words,” he says. “Lyrics, that is. Don’t have the patience to write full stories with proper grammar and such.”

Wonwoo’s eyes suddenly widen and the clear sign of recognition shines through them. “You must be Joshua’s friend!”

Mingyu startles. “He’s been talking about me?”

“Yeah, something about a friend in a band or a group that was coming in today? He said you’re a good guy. I reckon he was right,” Wonwoo explains, and then he wiggles his eyebrows again before he shrugs.  _Shrugs_ , as if nothing in the world is a big deal  _ever_. Especially not the fact that he’s made two suggestive comments and directed them towards Mingyu in a matter of minutes.

There’s a traffic jam somewhere inside of him and Mingyu can’t seem to form any thoughts so he doesn’t really have anything he can transform into words. Wonwoo seems very capable of steering this conversation by himself though.

“Do you want to move on?” he asks, to which everything suddenly loosens up and cooperates inside of him to form the word  _no_. Not if it means separating from Wonwoo. They still have the bag in his left pocket to go through.

He can’t really say that, though. Can’t ask a stranger to stay with him because he’s pretty and makes Mingyu’s organs feel comfortable underneath his skin. Maybe Wonwoo only used him for refreshments anyway.

He gives the girl on the wall a final glance and makes a promise to himself to come back to her before he leaves the gallery, then he sighs quite heavily and nods at Wonwoo. “Guess so.”

Wonwoo smiles. “C’mon, I think you’ll like this one.”

Then there’s the solid pressure of a hand against the small of Mingyu’s back and for the first time this evening he wishes he wasn’t wearing his coat.

Wonwoo guides him over to another portrait, but his hand doesn’t drop back to his side once they’ve stopped and Mingyu  _tries_  to be subtle when he leans into the touch, he really does.

“This is my favourite,” Wonwoo says, tilting his head closer to Mingyu even though they can hear each other perfectly fine. “The crinkles by his eyes, the laugh lines… everything you see is letting you know that the man has lived a full life and that he’s happy about it even though it’s safe to guess that he’s been through some bad times.”

The image before him is one of an elderly man. He’s sitting on a chair, laughing into the distance. That’s all. The man could be anyone, the situation could be one that everyone gets to experience in their life, but it still leaves an impression on Mingyu that seems stronger than any photo of an old man he’s ever seen, ‘cause it’s so clear that the person behind the art has put their soul into every line on the canvas. It somehow gives it a bigger meaning.

“How does one do that?” Mingyu asks, as if Wonwoo will know the answer. “How can someone convey so much feeling just by looking and letting their hand move in the shapes of what they see?”

He truly doesn’t understand it. Words are easier. You can string them together in whichever way that pleases you, you can add adjectives to emphasis something to the point where it almost seems too much. Words let you do whatever you want. But there’s no words in paintings, and Mingyu doesn’t get how the artist has managed to say more about the man they’re looking at with a few strokes than Mingyu would have done with any amount of sentences in the world.

“I tend to focus on the personality more than their looks. If you want to capture the essence of a person you have to know what their soul consists of. If you know that then their face will look entirely different,” Wonwoo explains.

At first it just seems like wise words. Mingyu figures that a lot of the people who are attending the exhibit are interested in art and knows a great deal about it, and when he adds the fact that Wonwoo is wearing a smart outfit and knows Joshua he quite easily assumes that Wonwoo works with art.

The expression on his face that’s aimed at the painting tells him differently. He looks at it as if he’s looking at an old friend. Like it’s someone who knows his deepest secrets; someone he’s gone through a lot with.

“You could have told me that they’re yours.”

Wonwoo grins and there’s not the slightest bit of regret present in his expression. “I could, but then you wouldn’t have spoken so freely about what you thought back there. And they’re not all mine. Only the portraits are.”

“I- No, I guess you’re right,” Mingyu admits through a sigh. “Probably wouldn’t have shared my provisions with you either.”

Wonwoo’s expression saddens at that, but otherwise he manages to keep his composure. “See, telling you would have been the greatest mistake of my life.”

They look at each other for a while, and something in Wonwoo’s eyes tells him that it’s not the thought of missing out on the crisps that was the reason behind that statement. He smiles, ignoring the way he seems to be burning up under his coat, under the blinding lights, in Wonwoo’s field of vision.

“Will you show me around? I want to know their stories.”

“Let me just get some champagne,” Wonwoo says, smiling. “If we’re lucky I’ll be able to take a whole bottle without getting caught.”

* * *

The champagne is starting to have its effects when they sneak out of the gallery a while later. Mingyu’s body feels electrified, charged by small touches, gentle smiles and suggestive comments that have gone more careless with every minute they’ve spent together. The air around them is chilly, the sky dark, and the street surprisingly quiet.

Wonwoo steer them to the first door to the left and smiles over his shoulder while his fingers work with a key and the lock. “I live in the loft above the gallery. S'not much but I like it.”

Mingyu can’t say that he cares. Wonwoo could live in a castle or in a tree house and he’s sure that the guy would find a way to make it feel like a home. “Shouldn’t you have stayed in there? Charm all the people and stuff?”

Wonwoo gets the door open and holds it up, but stops Mingyu with a hand on his upper arm when he’s about to walk in. “I don’t need to charm them. They’re already charmed.”

“You don’t think I am?” Mingyu asks, somehow talking around the lump of nerves in his throat.

Their faces are so close that Mingyu can feel Wonwoo’s breath on his face when he says, “I hope you are.”

It’s a miracle that he makes it all the way up to the loft without falling flat on his face, but what’s waiting for him proves to be worth the struggle. It’s basically a giant room with a few bookshelves in the middle to make it seem like there’s two different spaces. What they’ve just stepped into is a mix of kitchen and living space, and from what Mingyu can see the rest is supposed to be a studio that happens to include a bed. There’s paint and empty canvases everywhere, but it still manages to look organized.

“Do you want something to drink? I think I have a bottle of wine somewhere…” Wonwoo says, and when Mingyu turns around to face him he’s busy undoing the top buttons of his shirt, letting out a relieved sigh once he’s done and can look back up again. “Or a pint. I definitely got beer.”

Mingyu chuckles at the happy grin on Wonwoo’s face, relishes in the pink on his cheeks and admires his relaxed attitude that’s still evident. This is someone who has his paintings – his absolutely exquisite portraits – hanging in a fancy gallery downstairs, but it’s still so obvious that he doesn’t think highly of himself for it. His eyes scan Mingyu’s face as if he’s taking him in, happy to have him there and afraid that he will disappear before he’s had the chance to carve the dimples and the imperfections of Mingyu’s profile into his mind.

“No I’m alright, thank you,” Mingyu replies, taking his coat off and hanging it by the front door. When he looks back at Wonwoo he notices that the smaller has turned all his attention to Mingyu’s chest, and for once in his life he wonders if maybe he looks ridiculous like this, shirt half-done and some of his abs on display for anyone who looks a bit closer. His doubts are somewhat squished by the glint in Wonwoo’s eyes though, and he can’t keep quiet.

“Do you like tattoos?”

Wonwoo takes a step closer but his eyes never leave Mingyu’s skin, they just move over the small number tattooed just below his collarbone - a bet he lost to Seungcheol, you see - with such intensity that Mingyu wonders if he can see a story playing out in front of him the way Mingyu does when he’s looking at words. If he does, he hopes it’s a good one.

“Yeah, I do. And I like that you have one. But I don’t like that they’re _someone else’s_ work.” Wonwoo replies eventually, his voice slow as he finally glances up at Mingyu’s face again. His brow furrows as if he’s asking a question and Mingyu doesn’t fully understand it but he doesn’t care. He just nods his approval and figures that Wonwoo can do whatever he wants.

His hand reaches out to trace the ink right under his chest, the touch of his fingers burning against Mingyu’s skin in a whole other intensity than his eyes.

“Did you really like my art?” Wonwoo asks then, voice curious and careful in a way that doesn’t match the tension between them but that  _does_  match the soft side of his personality that Mingyu already feels so attached to. He recognizes a sense of urgency in the question from his own past; the need to get his own doubts replaced by verifications, and it’s nice to be able to be honest when he answers.

“I really like your art. And I like what you can do, and I like that you can do what you do because you are you,” Mingyu drawls, his voice even raspier than usual because of the late hour, the champagne and Wonwoo’s presence. He reaches out to adjust the collar of Wonwoo’s shirt but doesn’t let his hands drop when he’s done. “Does that make any sense?”

Wonwoo kisses him.

* * *

Wonwoo’s bed smells incredible. Mingyu thought about it when he was drifting off to sleep to the sound of Wonwoo’s steady breaths, and he thinks about it when he wakes up, breaths no longer audible.

There’s a slight breeze coming in from an open window and it leaves a trail of goose bumps wherever it touches his upper body. His lower half is covered by the sheets and despite what happened in the bed a few hours earlier he’s relieved. Somehow nudity seems scarier now that Wonwoo has seen it all. Has  _touched_  it all. There’s no certainties anymore. When the clothes were disappearing he knew what would come. Now that they’re gone he might have to put them on in a hurry because Wonwoo is done with him, and there’s so many aspects of that scenario that makes Mingyu feel sick.

Eventually he can’t ignore the lacking presence behind him. He opens his eyes and has to blink rapidly until he’s gotten used to the light that’s coming from a lamp in the corner of the room. It’s directed downwards and not on him, but it’s bad enough to blind him for a while so he doesn’t see Wonwoo until Wonwoo already has taken notice of his woken state.

He smiles softly from underneath the light and glances over the square in front of him. “Hi there.”

He doesn’t seem hostile. Quite the opposite, really. And Mingyu doesn’t care that he beams back when he says, “Hi. What are you doing?”

Wonwoo’s eyes crinkle, and Mingyu knows that it’s because of the way his voice just sounded. His friends always tease him about it but to his delight Wonwoo seems charmed.

“You inspired me,” Wonwoo says. “Just wanted to take the opportunity before it slipped away.”

Mingyu connects the dots at that; the canvas between them, the way Wonwoo seems to have angled everything towards the bed. He might be whispering when he says, “You’re painting  _me_?”

It’s not a question, really, but Wonwoo nods anyway. Shyly, obviously not sure if Mingyu will be okay with this.

Mingyu doesn’t think that he looks good enough to be immortalized like that.

He hears things all day, every day. Things about his hair, things about his skin color, things about his eyes, things about his abs and his legs, even about his teeth, and he always shakes it off because for every comment there’s another one to cancel it out– if not from another fan then from himself – and he knows that his fans talk without filter on the internet so he never really believes anything.

To be laying in a bed that belongs to a boy with a pretty face and an even prettier mind is terrifying now that the lustful touches and hungry kisses are over. He doesn’t know what to make of this, ‘cause despite the things people say about him he actually doesn’t sleep with every guy he talks to.

With thoughts spinning around and cheeks burning up he lets out a small whimper and rolls around to bury his head in Wonwoo’s pillow. The protesting ‘ _heeey_ ’ with an audible smile that follows makes something in his chest flutter and he has to press his mouth against the soft fabric so that the threatening laugh doesn’t fall out.

“ _Mingyu,_ ” Wonwoo groans, more pleadingly than tiredly. “Look at me.“

It takes him a while, but eventually he obeys. It scares him a little how happy he is to do it, and it scares him even more that Wonwoo doesn’t say anything else once they’re looking at each other again. He’d been expecting a comment, or a movement, or  _something_. Just not a staring contest with a crazy amount of sexual tension and an overwhelming want that Mingyu only ever feels when he’s missing something terribly.

“I don’t think I would have had the guts to talk to you if it weren’t for the crisps,” Wonwoo whispers after several minutes worth of silence and twitches of lips. It’s a weird thing to say to break it, but it’s probably the most honest thing Mingyu’s ever heard and it makes him nervous again.

He scratches his chest and lets his eyes flicker up to the ceiling before he looks back to the side again. “Why not?”

Wonwoo adjusts the easel and straightens a little on his chair. “’Cause you’re gorgeous. Effortlessly so. _Untraditionally_. You’ve got long limbs and an awkward way of carrying yourself but it works so well for you, and you don’t even try ‘cause you don’t  _know_.”

Mingyu holds his breath and looks as Wonwoo gets up from his seat and walks over to the bed. He crawls up between Mingyu’s legs and isn’t happy with their position until he’s covering Mingyu’s body with his own, fingers trailing over Mingyu’s collarbones and over the sensitive skin on the side of his neck, along the jawline and then finally over his lips. When they part under his touch Mingyu’s breath ghosts over the back of his hand and Mingyu grins when it makes the smaller shiver.

Wonwoo smiles back. “Cheeky, aren’t you?”

Mingyu leans up to kiss him.

* * *

Mingyu doesn’t know if he’s made so many  _vital_  mistakes in one day as he does the day after the exhibit. Firstly, he and Wonwoo both have people (read; Jeonghan and Joshua) who are on their backs about work before they’ve even woken up properly again, so he manages to rush out of Wonwoo’s place with a goodbye kiss but without a phone number. Secondly, he writes a song on the back of an old receipt he finds in his jeans,  _and tells Jeonghan about it_  as soon as they meet up that afternoon.

And it might only be two mistakes, but they’re big ones that mean that Mingyu and his band mates get locked up in a studio for the better part of a week to record and do some more writing now that Mingyu’s inspiration has made a strong comeback.

When he finally has some time off again he heads over to the gallery, but it’s empty of Joshua, Wonwoo  _and_  Wonwoo’s paintings, and no one answers the door when he tries to catch Wonwoo at home. He curses, kicks at the pavement and trudges back home to write the final song that they need for the album.

He has a feeling that it will be a sad one.

* * *

The guys were very adamant about making  _Between Sheets and Paint_  their new single, and Mingyu can’t find it in him to be against it. He knows that they’re some of the best lyrics he’s ever written and he can’t put a stop to things just because the story behind it is so personal.

Doing promotion for it proves to be a bit hard, though. Reporters live for gossip and they’re all dying to know what inspired Mingyu to write such a hit. If one of them were to get a hold of Wonwoo’s name it would end up being the biggest headline of the year, and when they don’t succeed they make one up. Mingyu hates all of it; having to talk about it all as if it doesn’t affect him. Having to make up lies about how the person he’s singing about isn’t special to him.

Wonwoo was special. _Is_  special.

It’s been four months and Mingyu still smiles every time he sees a bag of bacon flavoured crisps, so there’s not much to think about when Joshua texts him an invitation to his next exhibit, the words ‘ _Wonwoo will be there_ ’ in brackets at the end instead of casual greeting.

* * *

Joshua is stood outside the gallery when Mingyu and Jeonghan show up. He’s watching them with a blank expression that doesn’t turn into a smile until they’re going in for a mini group hug that must look ridiculous.

“So, look…” he says once they’ve separated. “When I said that Wonwoo would be here I meant-“

Mingyu’s seen enough dramas to freak out. “He’s not?”

“He _is_ ,” Joshua clarifies through a chuckle. “It’s just… It’s  _his_  exhibit this time. He’s done well since last time. Been working non-stop. He was a bit reluctant to do this at first, but I managed to talk him into it.”

Mingyu is pretty sure that he keeps a somewhat neutral expression as Jeonghan and Joshua start to discuss Wonwoo’s art in front of him, but on the inside he can feel something resembling the sense of pride he feels over the new album swell and take over his entire system.

Wonwoo is making it. His art is actually getting the recognition it deserves.

It does sting a little to know that it happened without Mingyu, he’s big enough to admit that. Mingyu hasn’t been able to do anything without adding a grain of Wonwoo to the mix during the time that has passed, all the while Wonwoo has created a whole new life for himself. He can’t really be sad about it, though. He’s mostly just excited to meet Wonwoo again, just to see if the thought of him has been realistic or if he’s made Wonwoo out to be a saint during their time apart.

He catches sight of the smaller immediately, his small form hunched over the refreshment table in the middle as if he’s searching for something he lost there ages ago. Mingyu grins to himself and walks over there with determination rushing through his veins. He doesn’t have the energy to worry. Not this time.

“I think they’re all out of crisps.”

Wonwoo twirls around so fast that Mingyu has to catch him by the arm before he tumbles to the ground, and his expression is a comical mix of shock and excitement when he finally tilts his head upwards to meet Mingyu’s curious eyes.

He hasn’t made Wonwoo out to be a saint. Wonwoo is better in reality than he ever was in Mingyu’s imagination. The way his expression shifts, the way his eyes grow fond when they’re aimed at Mingyu, the way his scent still seems familiar. It’s all so much better when it’s right in front of him.

“Got any on you, then?” Wonwoo asks, wiggling his eyebrows the same way he did the first time they met. It makes Mingyu laugh and he can’t stop gazing fondly at the man before him.

“Nah, I figured it was your turn to buy.”

Wonwoo grins. “I’ve kept my pantry full of ‘em.”

“I guess I’ll come back to you when I’m hungry then,” Mingyu says, and when he sees that Wonwoo is about to protest he shakes his head. “ _No_. No sneaking off this time. This is  _your_  exhibit, you can’t ditch people.”

His words make Wonwoo blush, and Mingyu wishes that  _that_  sight was hanging on the wall because even though Wonwoo is an amazing artist there won’t ever be anything he’ll like to look at as much as Wonwoo’s face. If the past months taught him anything, it’s that.

Wonwoo looks a bit sad, but his smile still seems genuine and it makes Mingyu feel at ease. He’s just about to turn away and take a look around when Wonwoo grabs his wrist and pulls him a bit closer.

“Has it been crazy of me to miss you?” he whispers.

Mingyu is incredibly careful when he shakes his head, just in case it might burst. “I’ve missed you too.”

* * *

It’s Wonwoo who finds him the next time. Mingyu has been walking around the gallery, studying every painting carefully and chatting with some people in a desperate try not to get too distracted by his own thoughts, but it’s been hard. He’s happy for Wonwoo’s success, happy to still be captured by every line on every canvas, and happy to be back in the gallery with Wonwoo so near him.

But despite wall after wall covered with portraits, none of them are of Mingyu. And it’s not like he’s conceited, not at all. But he remembers the night he shared with Wonwoo so clearly, knows the look Wonwoo had on his face as he was looking back and forth between the real Mingyu and the Mingyu he was creating on the canvas. He really thought that that was a defining moment.

Wonwoo’s touch is as enthralling as it was the last time. His hand on the small of Mingyu’s back where it should be is enough to make him lose focus on anything that isn’t Wonwoo, right there in front of him.

No words are shared, just an exchange of two looks that are searching for confirmation and then they’re off. But it doesn’t feel like the last time. Maybe because they don’t feel like strangers anymore, or maybe because their hands are linked and because they leave like a unit rather than two separate pieces.

As Wonwoo fumbles with the lock Mingyu thinks back to the last time they were stood there, when Wonwoo had told him in all honesty that he hoped that Mingyu was charmed. Mingyu had left the following day, convinced that he’d managed to charm Wonwoo as well, but now he’s not too sure.

“Was I a bad model?” he asks before he can change his mind, taking the opportunity when Wonwoo is facing the door and can’t see the slight pout on his lips. But Wonwoo turns around, of course. Just like he did back at the refreshment table, only this time there’s nothing but disbelief on his face.

Mingyu can’t say why, but it makes his chest tighten.

“Were you a bad model?” Wonwoo repeats, and even his voice sounds dumbfounded. “Were you- No.”

He looks Mingyu dead in the eye and says it again, forcefully. “ _No_.”

Then they’re going up the stairs – sprinting, almost – and Mingyu almost stumbles this time but considering the tight grip Wonwoo has of his wrist he’s not sure if he’d actually be able to fall or if Wonwoo would just drag him along before he hit the ground.

There’s no moment of contemplation when they enter the loft this time, no ridding of clothes or a slow conversation. Wonwoo just stomps across the room until he reaches the bedside, and Mingyu realizes that the portrait of himself is left exactly where it was the last time he was there. The chair Wonwoo was sitting on is there, the lamp he had used is there, he’s a hundred percent sure that it’s all at the exact same angle as it was back then too. Wonwoo hasn’t touched a thing.

“You were my favourite model,” Wonwoo says, his voice lower than normal, voice both deep and raspy. “I just. I didn’t want to share you. I didn’t want to share  _this_. Almost everyone knows who you are, and they all get a piece of you. I wanted to keep this piece for myself. I wanted to remember you the way you let me see you.”

Mingyu releases a shaky breath, twisting his arm until Wonwoo’s grip loosens around his wrist so that he can slide their hands together and entwine their fingers.

“I wrote an album about you,” he replies. It’s all he can come up with.

There’s no way to tell who initiates the kiss this time.

 


End file.
